


Repression

by Maraceles



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maraceles/pseuds/Maraceles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens only once, and only then in the whispering, humming darkness, the subtle vibration of the <i>Enterprise-E</i> resonating through his body as he sleeps in his quarters. </p>
<p>(originally posted to LJ)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repression

It happens only once, and only then in the whispering, humming darkness, the subtle vibration of the _Enterprise-E_ resonating through his body as he sleeps in his quarters. There is a small slip into wakefulness, only half-won and clouded by dreams, and on many nights he would simply drift back into sleep. On many other nights, however, the worn sheets on his bunk, the soft pillow beneath his head, the very stretch of his muscles as he floats into consciousness--they caress him deliciously, sensually, up into awareness. 

On most of these nights, he shakes himself fully awake, orders a cup of tea, and perhaps reads as sleep eludes him. On others, he gets fully dressed and walks silently through his new starship, feeling the ghosts of the past, both melancholy and delightful, follow him as he goes.

On a few occasions, however, he stays in his bed. He collapses on his back, a deep sigh escaping his lips, and he allows his hands to wander over his body, allows the fog of sleep to partly recapture his mind. He thinks of his past lovers, soft hair and strong muscle tantalizingly sweeping across his skin, and he follows the almost forgotten sensations with his own hands.

And one time, just once, there is a sudden exhalation of warm breath against his ear, tricky, teasing fingers dancing across his chest, and a body suddenly presses into his side, settling into the mattress next to him. 

"Feeling restless, are we?" the voice teases, more breath than sound. 

For some unknown reason on this particular night, instead of following the expected script, instead of yelling, demanding that the other leave and what the devil did he think he was doing, anyway, Picard turns his head and looks into the other (man's) eyes, and he doesn't throw Q out.

And Q, seeing the invitation in his eyes, kisses him.

For a split second, it horrifies them both. Picard is not a pet, and Q is not _exactly_ a danger, but their respective communities believe these things. If neither of them _quite_ feels shame at their unexpected behavior, neither can they admit that this is what they really _want_ \--and these are the things that Picard understands, that Q lets him _know_ , as he opens his mouth and kisses Q back.

Picard can't bring himself to care.

And Q, for his part, seems to find himself desperate, greedy, wild with abandon. Picard gasps silently as Q flings himself on top of him, grasping his smooth head with strong fingers; Q crushes their lips together, deepening their kiss. His tongue sweeps against Picard's palate, thrusting urgently, demanding surrender, and Q pushes his body down against him, the hard length of him felt through the uniform against Picard's naked body, the alien too caught with shock to have flashed away his own typical attire.

Picard pushes against him, against smooth muscle which is too perfect, too young. The fabric frustrates him, and it stings him with what it represents, but he grabs onto Q's arms, bites Q's unswollen lips, and harshly tugs on the man's uniform. "Off," he demands, and Q, eyes wild, snaps off his clothing. 

And they are naked together.

It is yet more horrifying, and arousing, and Picard reaches up, tangling his fingers in Q's hair, and yanks his head back down to kiss him again. They will not take their time. They do not seek to make it last. Picard opens his legs and Q falls between them, against him, and they push against each other, thrusting furiously.

Q is panting, moaning in his mouth, his arms twining around Picard's body and holding him down, holding him fiercely. Picard ignores the sounds coming out of his own mouth. He is too swamped with sensation, with the hard press of their bodies, the slick feel of Q's cock against his hip, the psychic arousal spilling from Q's startled mind. Q is unpracticed--their timing is not quite right, and Picard wraps his legs around the other man's, forcing him to meet his rhythm--but Q is oddly knowing, too, and after a second Picard feels him shift, feels him move more smoothly, fitting himself perfectly against Picard's body, each thrust of his hips overwhelming him, dissolving him.

Picard _feels_ Q push into his mind.

The violation pushes him over the edge. He bites his lip harshly, feeling himself letting go, feeling Q continue to thrust against him, his cock hard against Picard's hip, his thoughts invading Picard's own. There are too many of them; they are confused and contradictory, and he cannot make sense of anything but Q's face as the alien moves above him, against him. He watches as Q tears his mouth away, his handsome face twisting with terror and disgust and elation. Q buries his head against Picard's shoulder, his body shaking as he holds Picard desperately, his cock pulsing against Picard's hip. 

They lay like that, silent, as the minutes pass.

Q pushes off of him, finally--not much, just enough that his arms and elbows frame Picard's face, enough so that they can stare at each other. Q's expression, usually so open and mobile, is utterly frozen. He looks as he once did, humanity's judge, coldly enraged, as if he might throw them unprotected at the Borg once again; his eyes burn as they meet Picard's own. Picard has never seen him look so dangerous.

Then Q leans closer. Before Picard can quite believe it, Q is pressing his lips against his, quickly, firmly, and then with a flash of light, Q is gone.

It has only happened once, but Picard now finds himself waiting in the evenings. He pauses before he turns off the lights, looks thoughtfully around his rooms and sometimes up at the bulkheads. He wonders if Deanna knows--he does not discuss it with her--and whether the Q Continuum cares. But then he shakes his head, orders the lights to dim, and climbs into bed.

It has happened only once, but Picard knows that Q will be back. 

And he's not sure if it is anticipation--or is it regret?--twisting his belly or not.


End file.
